Chapter Four
Gunshots exploded from all sides, surrounding him and his squad. Reinforcements were on the way, but the intensity of the battle had yet to decrease. The smoke from the incessant firing of guns combined with the sand it stirred up made it near impossible to see his target. Shouts of pain filled the air—making him wonder if it were friend or foe—filling the air so that he almost missed the sound of the grenade landing next to him and his squad member.
Everything moved in slow motion. He looked at Reggie, each acknowledging the immediate threat. He knew, just as his partner did, they didn’t have time to run. They’d both be dead. Him and Reggie, who had three kids at home, and one on the way.
Matt knew Reggie would attempt to save his life. Just as he knew he’d do anything to save him, too. Matt just needed to be faster.
He reached out—beating Reggie by seconds—grabbed the grenade, and threw it to his side. Away from his friend. A loud boom shook the ground, blocking out everything but the pain bursting in his legs. Encompassing him until nothing else existed. The agony and the sound of men dying echoed as he drifted off into nothingness.
Matt bolted upright, breathing heavy and sweating, like he always did after a nightmare. Tears ran down his face, and he wiped them away. Every night, he dreamt of it again. Every night, he relived the nightmare. He’d done his best to save Reggie. Tried to shield him from the blow. Instead, God had taken Matt’s legs—and his friend’s life.
A soft palm gripped his shoulder, causing him to jerk in shock.
Shit.
White walls, beige curtains, and a god-awful comforter surrounded him. All signature trademarks of a hotel bedroom. How could he have allowed himself to fall asleep, knowing what would happen? Why had he submitted himself, and her, to the embarrassment of his night terror?
And how fast will she run from me?
He groaned, dropping his forehead into his hands. He’d ruined it. Ruined everything. Now, she’d never want to see him again. Last he remembered, he’d been lying in bed with her naked in his arms, picturing a possible future. He’d been so damn…hopeful.
Until he’d gone and emasculated himself in front of her.
“Are you okay, Matt?” Her voice quivered, as did her hold on his shoulder. He’d blown it. Cried out like the baby he was, shouting in his sleep.
He nodded, unable to speak. Why didn’t she get the hell out of bed and leave already? He knew she wanted to.
He refused to open his eyes, even though he could sense the light shining in through the window. Morning had come.
She started to speak, stuttered, then climbed out of bed. Here it comes. The hasty exit. Swallowing past the ache in his throat, he lifted his head, watching her pad barefoot to the bathroom.
Water ran, and she came out, holding a plastic cup. “Here, drink this. You look hot.” Her eyes took in his shaken appearance, and inside he howled at being seen as weak. As less than a man.
Even as he tried to stop, the words came unbidden to his mouth. “I don’t need your damn water. I don’t need you to look at me like I’m a child. I just need you to leave so I can get dressed and go home. Your night of sex with the invalid is over, so you can feel better about yourself as you return to your life of helping the wounded vets of the country. Maybe you can start a charity and screw them one at a time. Now, that’s a service worth passing around.”
She jerked back, as if he’d struck her, and the hurt shadowing her face affected him like a blow. Her expression hardened, and she threw the cup of cold water at him. It splashed over his chest, soaking the bed. His anger disappeared with the icy shock of water, and shame filled him at his harsh words.
“Tiffany, look, I’m—”
“Fuck you, Matt. Sometimes, I think all men are the same. You all feel the need to lash out at women when you feel insecure.” She broke off and swiped at her tears. The sight of her tore at his heart. Damn it, he was no better than the man who’d abused her. “Well, I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. Good luck with your legs.”
Spine straight, she grabbed her clothes and left the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind her, echoing like a gunshot. For a split second, he was back in the battle. Then he shook his head and returned to the present.
And the woman who’d just walked out on him.
“Tiffany! Wait!” he shouted as he scrambled to get out of bed. His chair had gotten moved from right beside him, to about three feet away. Straining to reach it, he lost precious time as his fingers kept slipping off the armrest. He leaned forward, tumbling out of bed in the process.
Naked, lying on the carpet, fury embraced him like a long lost friend. How dare his legs fail him at such an important moment? How dare he fall to the floor, left to flop like a fish out of water?
“Son-of-a-bitch!” He roared as he army-crawled, inch by agonizing inch, to the chair. When he reached it, he wrapped his fingers around the cool steel and pulled himself into the seat. Panting, he rolled to the door, for once triumphant over his useless limbs.
He didn’t need them to get to his chair. He’d managed it just fine, thank you. The sound of her slamming out of the room met his ears, and he threw his head back to yell, “Tiffany!”
Too late. He’d been too slow.
He reached out and yanked the door open. Heedless of his naked state, he rolled across the room. His wheel got stuck on a piece of clothing on the floor—his shirt—and he cursed as he reached down, grabbed the annoying article of clothing, and threw it over his lap to cover his privates.
But it didn’t matter anyway. She’d already left.